


Imperial Purple

by Philomytha



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Crack, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lwaxana Troi attempts to give Lady Alys fashion advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperial Purple

"It doesn't help to dwell on it, you know," Cordelia said behind her, and Alys sat up guiltily. She hadn't been brooding on Padma for long, staring out the window at the rain-drenched lawn, but if her thoughts did keep turning back to him, that was no business of anyone else.

"I know," she snapped back, then looked around.

It wasn't Cordelia. The woman standing behind her was Cordelia's height and had a similar voice, but was much older, and a complete stranger. Her appearance was so shocking that Alys's hand faltered as she reached instinctively for the screamer-button on her commlink. She wore a gown and matching wrap in a lurid shade of purple, with ruffles that had to be wired in, for no starch would make them stand up like that across her shoulders and arms. It was decently long, unlike some galactic fashions, sweeping the ground with a little train behind, but at the back it was so low one could have seen the top of her knickers, had she been wearing any, and there were several places where artistic-shaped cuts in it had been made and filled only with a shimmering transparent gauze. The purple fabric sparkled with tiny silvery beads sewn in random-seeming patterns all over it. It was the most outrageous dress Alys had ever seen, and yet the woman wore it casually, as if it was entirely ordinary. That, Alys could admire.

"Who _are_ you?" she said before she could think.

"I know it's hard when you lose your husband," the woman went on, "but you can't grieve for ever."

The door burst open and half a dozen ImpSec guards rushed in, followed by Captain Illyan. The woman raised her eyebrows at them briefly, then turned back to Alys, ignoring them.

"You should find another husband to console yourself with. This young fellow would do. He's positively longing for an opportunity--" The ImpSec guards took her by the arms. "Remove your hands from me, young man. Or put them somewhere different." She looked at Illyan again. "Do control your men, Captain. My word, what an _interesting_ mind you have. I've never encountered anything quite like it." Her black eyes widened. "Two minds, almost. You are quite unique. My dear, if you don't want him, perhaps I could take him off your hands."

The ImpSec guards were giving their chief helpless looks, as if their pay grade didn't stretch to dealing with this kind of thing. Captain Illyan had an impartial glare on his face.

"Who are you and how did you get in?" He paused. "And what are you doing?"

"Why, reading your mind, my darling. Such control in a human is most impressive."

Illyan paled. "You--you--"

"Oh, you military types. As if I cared about your secret codes and so forth. I wouldn't even remember them. Unlike you, I notice. But you're so obsessed with them you think everyone else must be too. I know another man like you."

The look Illyan shot Alys had an unmistakable hint of pleading in it. Alys rose to her feet and went to face the stranger with the only distraction she thought might work.

"I am Lady Alys Vorpatril, and on behalf of his Imperial Majesty Emperor Gregor Vorbarra and the Lord Regent Admiral Lord Vorkosigan, I welcome you to the Imperial Residence." She gave a shallow, arrogant curtsey.

A smile flickered over the woman's face, and then her lips stiffened into a matching severity. "I am Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed." She did not curtsey, but inclined her head slightly towards Alys.

Well, at least she was diverted from reading Illyan's mind and making sexual suggestions. Alys had no idea what the titles meant, but from the woman's tone, they were significant. Alys felt slightly more approving. One of Illyan's men, holding a scanner, said, "She appears to be unarmed, sir."

"Lady Troi," Alys opted for, since it never hurt to overestimate someone's rank, "I'm afraid at the Imperial Residence we require our guests to observe security protocol."

"Why, he's actually frightened," Lady Troi said, raising her eyebrows at Illyan. "Don't worry, pet. I won't hurt anyone here. And call me Lwaxana, dear," she added, looking back at Alys. "I can see we're going to be good friends. Especially since I might want to share this one with you."

Six years of talking to Cordelia and dealing with galactic guests were nowhere near enough training for this, Alys thought desperately.

"Though I have to say," she continued, "you really shouldn't wear that frightful red and blue outfit." She surveyed Illyan with a critical frown, but this time Alys found herself in agreement. "Apart from anything else, it will clash with my dress. Black and red is far more becoming, for military uniform." Looking back at Alys, she finished, "No wonder you're wearing grey. But something a little more imaginative..."

"How did you get here?" Illyan demanded, struggling as much as Alys to maintain some semblance of control over the conversation. He waved the guards to stand down.

Lwaxana looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "This isn't the _Enterprise_ ," she observed, obscurely. "I told them I would prefer not to rely on the transporter, and see? It's sent me to the wrong place again. I do hope poor dear Jean-Luc isn't worrying about me." She turned back to Illyan in a swirl of purple fabric. "So there's no need to worry, pet. I'm sure Jean-Luc will have me back where I belong in no time." She took Alys's arm and led her back to the embrasure. Alys saw Illyan go utterly rigid, and Lwaxana looked back at him again. "Really, I won't hurt her. Though it is sweet of you to worry." She patted Alys on the shoulder. Alys drew back austerely, and Lwaxana's eyes glinted. "Oh, very good, my dear."

She leaned back against the panelling of the window embrasure, the brown polished wood clashing violently with her gown. "Though I hope they don't get things sorted out _too_ quickly with the transporter, because this is a fascinating place." She put her hand on Alys's arm again, and said, "Trust me, my dear Lady Alys. I've lost a husband too. You will find many new things to divert yourself with, if you only look around."

Keeping a constant flow of chatter going to distract people was a technique Alys made use of regularly. She'd never faced a flow of chatter quite this impossible to stop. Or this close to the bone. It was clear that the resemblance to Cordelia was more than superficial.

"It is kind of you to say so," Alys said, meaning nothing of the sort, and Lwaxana laughed.

"Ah, I see, this is one of those reserved, buttoned-up cultures. I like them, there's so much to explore beneath the surface. You can conceal a lot in plain mourning clothes, I can tell."

"Or you can conceal things behind flamboyancy," Alys retorted. The only defence against Cordelia's Betan conversational techniques was attack, and with luck the same thing would work on this strange woman. "Tell me, who are you consoling yourself with? Jean-Luc?"

Lwaxana went still. "Touché," she said after a minute. "Well. But still, you should wear something brighter." Alys smiled at the quick change of subject, and Lwaxana went on, "With your colouring, you could get away with so many pretty things. In fact, here, try this." Lwaxana detached the wrap from her shoulders and draped it across Alys's arms. It was bright purple velvet, with swirling iridescent gauze in cutout patterns, edged with silver ribbon and tasselled to within an inch of its life. It was, in fact, the most tastelessly garish garment Alys had ever worn.

"There," Lwaxana said, smoothing the purple thing across Alys's back. "That's much better. You see? You can't stay in that grey mourning outfit forever. But--oh! Oh dear, I'm so sorry, I do dislike transporters--"

Before Alys's eyes, the woman began to fade in a glowing haze. Illyan dashed forwards and snatched Alys back from the sparkling light, frustrating Alys's attempt to take off the shawl and thrust it at Lwaxana before she disappeared. A moment later she was gone.

"What," Illyan said in a not-quite-steady voice, "was that?"

"I really have no idea," Alys managed to reply. "She left her shawl behind." She paused. "I don't suppose you could confiscate it, could you? It must be some kind of security breach," she added hopefully. She disentangled herself from the purple tassels, folded the shawl up neatly and offered it to Illyan.

He took it, a little helplessly.

"Ah--yes, my lady, I believe ImpSec will indeed wish to examine this."

"Please, don't feel you need to return it."

Illyan looked back at the spot where Lwaxana Troi had dematerialised, and shook his head slowly. "I have no idea what to do about this. Or how to defend the Residence against it." He made a short frustrated gesture that might have been hair-tearing in a more demonstrative man.

"Finding her dress designer and arresting her would be a good start," Alys muttered. Captain Illyan gave a startled laugh, then gave the shawl to one of his men, who slid it into an evidence bag. He glanced back at her.

 _Positively longing for an opportunity..._

Alys straightened her grey mourning dress like armour around herself, turned, and ruthlessly abandoned Captain Illyan to his security headaches.

* * *

"Oh, I just remembered, I brought something for you," Simon said, propping himself up on one elbow, the sheet falling away from his torso. "It's in that bag there."

Since she was half out of bed, Alys fetched the bag. Neatly wrapped in tissue paper was a horrifyingly familiar garment. She pulled away the paper and shook out the mysterious bright purple shawl.

"You kept it," she stated accusingly.

"It kept my laboratory boys happy for almost a year. Apparently the strains of silk in it are not known anywhere else in the galaxy, and the synthetic fabrics are also unique." He grinned. "An alien shawl, you could say. I think it's pretty."

"You would," she retorted. Simon's taste in clothes was still unfortunate. But he was smiling at her hopefully, so she took off her burgundy dressing-gown--because there were some colour clashes she didn't think she could endure even to please Simon--and put the shawl around her bare shoulders in its place. Its tassels tickled down her back.

"You see? It looks stunning on you. Everything looks stunning on you."

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Alys blinked rapidly and concluded that love was most definitely blind. Naked apart from the purple alien shawl, she returned to bed.


End file.
